She’s quiet for a long time. Finally she speaks and I can tell that she’s crying. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”
Cole
I text her a new title every day. After Oliver Twit, it’s Lice in Wonderland and then Laughter House Five and Life of I.
I like to imagine that she gets my texts while she’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed in that little cream tank top, studying or putting lotion on her legs. I picture her trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. And somehow, that one thought gets me through the day.
Sometimes I send her other things: a random song lyric that pops in my head, a picture of my sneakers right before I run in a heat against Nate. One morning I send over a shot of the awful kale and spinach smoothie that Daniel insists that I try for breakfast.
I tell myself that I’m not trying to be friends with her or anything like that. It’s not like she ever responds so it seems more like sending messages out to sea in a bottle or writing in a journal than harassing an ex-girlfriend. It’s hard to explain, but there’s a sort of peace in it. And I know how stupid that sounds. I know that I’m figuring out ways to justify it to myself, but maybe that’s not so terrible. Reaching out to Aimee in these little insignificant ways makes me feel something other than anger and self-pity, and today that matters more than my pride.
I finally call my sister back on a Tuesday when I know that she’ll be home from school. I’m not up for a video chat yet, so I hold the phone up to my ear and I wait. Sophie answers on the second ring and, my voice a sopping mess of barely held together syllables, I tell her that I’m sorry.
The kid is cool. She doesn’t give me a bunch of crap. She tells me that it’s no big deal and that she loves me, which, of course, makes me feel like an even bigger piece of shit.
We talk about Mom for a while. Sophie tells me that she’s on a waiting list to get into a hospice in a few months.
“What about treatment? Can’t they try chemo or radiation or something?”
“Didn’t you read my emails? She’s past all that now.”
“I-I’m…” I force myself to take a deep breath. I’m on the floor of my bedroom with my back pressed up against the closet door and my feet against the bed rail. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. You shouldn’t be dealing with this on your own. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You shouldn’t say fuck around me. It’s crass.” Her laugh is weak.
“Sophie...” My voice is serious.
“Cole…” Hers is equally as serious.
“I just—I just don’t know what to say to you or to her or dad.”
“It’s okay. It is. We’re okay. She’s sleeping in the guest room,” she says, sounding way older than thirteen. “At first it was weird, but now it’s good. I think dad might be waking up from his coma.” She pauses. “And I know that it’s not going to end well, but I think that we needed this. Dad needed this. It’s like… like…” She’s searching for the right word.
“Closure?” I offer up.
“Yeah. It’s closure for all of us. I was mad at her for years, but now I kind of feel like—what’s the point? I’m just happy to have this time with her to make things better.” Sophie drops her voice. “Do you mind that?”
I’m taken aback by the question. “Why would I mind?”
“I don’t know, Cole. You haven’t wanted to talk to Mom since she left, and you still won’t talk to her. It’s always been us against her and now… Well, I don’t want you to think that I’m not on your side anymore. You did so much for me and I—”
I cut her off. “Sophie, please don’t even finish that sentence. I don’t want you to think that way or carry around any of my bullshit for me. She’s your mother. ” Aimee’s words come to me. “She’s a part of you and I want you to have that.”
“Me too.” Sophie sighs softly and I wish that I could see her face because I know that she’s smiling and I love that smile. “I was too young before. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know that her favorite dessert was lemon meringue pie, or that she sang in an a capella group in high school, or that she’s afraid of heights. And I realize that those things sound silly, but… I don’t know… I needed answers and now I have my chance to get them.”
We talk a little longer. Sophie tells me about school and gives me the Aaron Miller update. Finally, she asks about Aimee.
“How do you know anything about Aimee?” I ask.